


Down In The Greenwood

by Silent_So_Long



Series: Wood Collier [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Dragon Riders, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 09:40:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Thor AU] Thor is a woodsman living in the greenwoods outside the city of Asgard; he discovers an injured dragon-rider whilst out on a hunt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down In The Greenwood

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was, in part, inspired by the song “The Wood Collier’s Grave” by Richard Hawley. The title is taken from lyrics from the same song.

The sun filtered through the trees, breaking up the green shadows in bright dappled bursts of light breaking through the green shadows. Thor strode through light and shadows alike, axe resting heavily upon his shoulder, yet its weight was easily carried. The young man had his hair tied back, thus stopping the long strands from floating into his face and his eyes whilst he worked. The day promised to be a cold one and Thor wanted to get the majority of his cutting done before the chill of evening threatened to sear the land right out of its vitality. 

His boots made alternate thunking and swishing sounds upon the ground, dependant upon whether he ploughed through drifts of leaves or traversed across open muddy ground alike. He could hear the sounds of hidden animals slinking about their business deep within the safety of the trees; he knew that the hunting that day would be particularly fruitful. His stomach growled at the thought of the meal he hoped to take that night. 

Even though he’d already recently eaten, the ever hungry young man was always on the look-out for new tastes, new meals, regardless of whether the taste was sweet or savoury. Food was food and he enjoyed it all, in the only way that he could; greatly. Thor was ever the sensualist for all of his time spent alone in the woods. He deplored the company of others at the best of times, venturing only into the nearby village when he needed to trade wooden wares for other things that he needed, such as foodstuffs that he couldn’t grow, or clothing that he couldn’t fashion for himself, or necessary items such as soap and toiletries. 

His great chest heaved in a contented sigh, agile mind already planning out the tasks that he would perform that afternoon with the wood that he found fallen upon the ground or physically cut himself. He knew that his once monthly visit to the village was well overdue and he needed to finish his current batch of small wooden pots, bowls and toys to delight adults and children to trade for the things that he needed. If he managed to make enough, he was hoping to barter for some heavily honeyed cakes to satisfy his craving for sweet things for a few days. 

His boots continued to thud through the leaves and he purposefully and languidly kicked a stray branch from his path, both to get it out of his way and to test it for supple pliancy. It was dead; the wood easily cracked and snapped beneath the weight of his booted toes. Thor moved on, rendering the branch undesirable for his needs. 

A clearing in the trees allowed the sunlight to drift down in a bright wash of light, that made Thor squint and shade his bright blue eyes from the overload of sensations, too used to the dappled light of the greenwoods. Warmth flooded over him in direct counterpoint to the coolness of the shade hitherto provided by the trees, yet Thor knew that winter would soon be upon him. The August sun was but the last of the year and the summer would soon swing into autumn and still further into winter. 

His thoughts shifted to the extra wood he needed to stockpile for the fire in his cabin. Thor wondered then whether the tales he‘d heard in Asgard‘s marketplaces over the upcoming winter being the   
hardest they‘d yet seen in years would prove to be true. Thor wasn’t entirely convinced, yet he knew that it always proved to pay caution to old wives tales, just in case. 

Thor strode ever onwards, mind still mentally caught on how much wood he would have to cut to ensure continued fires through the cold months, and as such, almost missed the noise. The noise itself was at first quiet, but with each repetition grew exponentially louder until it could no longer be ignored and so broke into Thor’s busy thoughts. 

He stopped in his tracks, unconsciously dropping into a fighting stance, muscular arms raised with his axe held out in front of him. So lost in thought had he been, he’d barely noticed the fact that the birds had long since stopped singing above him in their usual towering perches; the forest surrounding him was unnaturally silent but for the noise that had so belatedly drawn his attention. It was unlike anything he’d ever heard before, further adding to the eeriness of the otherwise too silent trees; the noise was that of a giant rumbling purr, filled with pain and with agony and something that was akin to longing and loss. Thor’s eyes shifted, taking in his surroundings, yet he could see nothing other than the sunlight breaking through the shifting boughs above his head and the trees themselves, bathed in dappled green light. 

Thor began to wonder if whatever was out there would prove to be his undoing; a noise that deep could only come from something that was larger than Thor himself. The breezes shifted and battered against his face in tickling little draughts; Thor’s nose wrinkled when he caught an unfamiliar scent - it reeked of death and of reptilian coolness, and something else, something that was metallic and thick in the air. Thor had smelt blood often enough to recognise the metallic scent, hunting with knife and with bow through the greenwoods, striking down conies and deer alike for stews and for steaks over his lonesome fire in the cabin. Blood had stayed within his nose and the folds of his clothes for days, it seemed, no matter how many times he washed, as though the memory of death hung about him to haunt him. 

On a whim, Thor stole forwards on silent feet, years of moving through the forests in the wake of deer honing his footsteps now to nothing more than the passage of wind through leaves; the greenwoods shifted about him in silent warning and judgment. Still the birds remained silent; Thor wondered if they still were there, clutching to breeze driven branches or whether they had long since flown to safer perches. 

Then he saw what was making the noise and the sight brought him up short, for he’d never seen a dragon before, in this close proximity. The only glances he’d managed to glean for his curious eyes were fleeting ones at best, stolen when the great beasts flew through the air over the markets of Asgard, taking their aloof riders with them on whatever business might be keeping them occupied that day. Thor knew little of the riders themselves, for they mostly kept themselves apart from those in Asgard whom they viewed as mere peasants. All that Thor had managed to glean from idle gossip in the marketplace was that the riders were under the rule of the king, catering to his every whim and riding out on untold wars in far off lands. 

Suddenly the breeze shifted again, blowing away from Thor that time, instead of towards him and the dragon caught his scent, great reptilian head lifting dangerously, glittering lizard eyes peering forward in an attempt to locate him. It didn’t take the great beast long to find Thor, despite his stillness and his current attempts at trying not to breathe too deeply, chest rising and falling in narrow little bursts of energy. The dragon’s sharp eyes were keener still than its nose, and its distinct rumble was cutting through the air in no time. It lifted his head, jutting it still further over a bundled heap that Thor now noticed lay twisted at the great beast’s feet, a splash of black and green against the withered leaves of autumns past upon the ground. 

The dragon made no move to attack Thor, of which Thor himself was glad; he knew that despite his skill at defending himself, even he would find it difficult to defend himself with merely an axe at his disposal against such a giant beast. Thor himself barely came up to the dragon’s muscular shoulder, leathery wings making the lizard seem taller still. Instead of attack, the beast seemed to be waiting, reptilian eyes expectantly cool instead of dangerous. Thor dared to creep forward, curiosity pulling at his feet until he stopped a few feet from the bundle that lay prone between the great clawed feet of the dragon. Thor could feel the heat baking from the beast’s scales, and he sweltered in the previously cool day. He wondered how the riders stood such temperatures, then remembered tales of protective leather and spell-work that undoubtedly protected fragile human limbs from overheating. 

Thor did not take his eyes from the dragon for a few, back-breaking moments, which seemed to stretch out infinitely longer than usual; the dragon stared back and still it did not attack. A little emboldened by the beast’s lack of activity, Thor bent down to examine the heap between black curving claws. 

The heap turned out to be one of the riders that Thor had heard so much about and had only caught fleeting glimpses of a-dragon-back. This one was definitely male, although slender, with a splash of long black hair that spilled in long waves against the leaves. The utter blackness looked out of place against brittle brown, as though a spill of dark ink had splashed out against the fragile bones of summers past. The rider's face was pale, yet somehow Thor had the sense that the paleness was natural and not due to the wound that he could now see had been gashed deep into the rider’s side. Thor was heartened to see that the rider still lived, narrow chest rising and falling rhythmically as though the male was sleeping instead of merely unconsciousness. 

Thor became all too aware of thin slashes of dark eyebrows above closed eyes, highly defined cheekbones that seemed to sharp to lay contained within pale skin. The rider’s hands were slender, too lax against the ground and Thor wondered then just what had happened to the rider. He looked to the dragon again yet he knew that there would be no answers forthcoming from the beast. He knew that the dragons didn’t talk, or if they did, they spoke only to the riders that flew with them. 

Still, the dragon’s message was clear despite the lack of speech that lay like a chasm between them; the dragon wanted Thor to tend to the rider. Even though Thor was loath to invite strangers to his home, he knew that he could not leave the rider to die, with nothing but a mute dragon standing watch over his slowly bleeding body. Cursing, Thor bent and slid his arms carefully beneath the too lax body of the rider. The dark haired man was surprisingly light, lending more to his already bird like frame than Thor would have imagined. Long legs dangled and threatened to catch against the ground until Thor shifted the weight more evenly against him. Even so, he felt encumbered, boot heels dragging lower against the ground than were their wont. 

He turned away from the dragon, knowing that the beast would not dare to attack him now that he had its master firmly within his grasp. He took a few steps and stopped in his track, throwing one glance behind him over his shoulder at the ever watchful reptile.

“Follow, if you must,” Thor said, gruffly, wondering even as he spoke whether the dragon would even understand him. “Your master will live, if I have anything to do with his healing.”

Even though he knew little about the ways of healing in comparison with the wise women that dotted their way through the entirety of Asgard, he knew enough to keep himself alive, to stitch up gaping wounds with needle and thick thread and to set broken bones with splints. He’d performed minor surgeries upon himself for years, caught out in the open by angry stags with flashing hooves and antlers, flesh rent and torn into ugly gashes that soon healed a little wonkily even beneath his ever careful ministrations. He’d never before performed such ministrations upon another, however; Thor only hoped that his best efforts would be good enough. He nodded, more to himself than to the dragon before turning away again, winding his way awkwardly through the greenwoods. He heard the dragon break cover, great scaled body bursting heavily through the tree-tops to soar overhead; somehow he knew that the great beast was tracking him, using its sharp hawk-like sense of sight to follow his lumbering progress through the greenwoods.

His arms were an aching mass of nerves by the time he finally reached his cabin; despite the rider’s bird-like lightness, his weight dragged against Thor’s shoulders and sapped the woodsman of his strength. Thor was only too glad to lay the rider down upon the only bed in the cabin, deciding that the injured man needed it more than he did while he recovered; it wouldn’t have been the first time that Thor had improvised sleeping arrangements on hard floors and uncomfortable leaf covered ground alike.

The rider’s dark spill of hair seemed darker still against the paleness of Thor’s sheets, seeming to match the dark leather of the man’s battle armour, carefully bisected with forest green. Bands of gold swooped beneath the rider’s neckline, that seemed as dull as Thor’s ever darkening mood. Already the rider’s breathing was growing shallow; Thor prayed to the old gods that he still believed in to help him save the man’s life. 

He was dimly aware of the dragon’s presence outside as he began to work, reptilian eyes watchful through the dusty panes of glass that separated the woodsman from the beast. Thor’s strong hands made short work of removing the rider’s battle armour, even though the many fastenings were unfamiliar to him; the rider’s body was as slender as the battle armour had intimated, and as pale as the man’s face; he was all too worryingly long-limbed and loose in his unconsciousness. Thor set the armour aside, hoping that the rider would survive to reclaim it again in due course. 

He immediately set to work over the still barely flickering flames of the fire, stoking the wood into blazing light again before he began boiling water over the heat. He began dabbing the worst of the blood away; it seemed as though the rider had sustained an arrow wound somewhere during his flight; Thor was glad to note that the arrow had merely scored flesh and was not embedded within the man’s soft belly. 

Thor checked the water again, and took it from the flames, waiting it for it too cool slightly before applying the water to the wound to further cleanse it. As soon as the blood, both dried and glisteningly wet was cleaned away, Thor moved to find the salves and potions he’d thought to stock-pile in case of personal injuries. He applied some of the aloe crèmes and other cleansing agents to rent and torn flesh, before he began to stitch the two sides together, strong fingers quickly agile, brow furrowed over blue eyes intense with concentration. 

He dressed the wound once the stitches were firmly in place, bandages creamy against the rider’s pale skin, before he drew the blankets over the man’s slender frame and padded away. The rider seemed to be all too content to remain unconscious for the foreseeable future; Thor used the time left to him to check the traps around his cabin for coneys, soon returning with three brace of long limbed rabbits for his dinner. 

He set to work skinning and gutting them; the blood and the scent of fresh meat attracting the attention of an undoubtedly hungry dragon. Thor smiled despite himself and threw one of the rabbits to the beast, knowing that he could spare something for the majestic being. Thor was only just now realising just how graceful a large being could be, muscles shifting lithely beneath burnished scales as leathery wings flexed against broad back. The dragon crunched through bone and flesh soon nosing back for more. The great beast soon growled away when it realized that no more food was forthcoming from Thor; the woodsman knew that he needed the rest of the meat for that evening’s stew. He continued skinning and boning the rest of the coneys and watched as the dragon launched itself skyward, undoubtedly heading off to find food for itself.

Once Thor’s grisly task was done, he returned inside, to find that the rider had as yet to move; although his breathing seemed a little easier after Thor’s tending. Thor nodded to himself, and set about re-filling his pot with water, soon dangling it over the ever hungry flames of his fire to boil. He chopped summer’s late vegetables to put into the pot, adding wild garlic and shallots to enhance the taste. The meat soon followed and Thor allowed the whole mess to cook for a while, whilst he cleaned himself free of the messes of cooking. 

He returned as the rider began to stir, faint sounds as thin as his body breaking through the air as discomfort undoubtedly began to seep in. Thor remained seated, eyes the only mobile thing about him as he watched the rider’s movements, slender hand rising to rest against pale forehead. The man’s eyes, when they opened, were softly green, hinting at sly amusement when the man was well and in his prime. Now that slyness was tempered with pain, only barely eased by Thor’s careful administrations. 

“Where am I?” the rider asked, and his voice was surprisingly cultured, a deep purr that seemed to be reminiscent of his own dragon. 

“Deep in the greenwoods near Asgard,” Thor replied. “I took you in after I heard your dragon whilst out hunting. You looked to be in pretty bad shape.” 

He stopped talking, blond brows lifted only slightly in unspoken curiosity. The dark haired man sighed, green eyes closing for just one moment, thin lips parted in a small sound of dissatisfaction when his wound pained him. 

“I suppose you require an explanation,” the man said, finally when Thor‘s silence continued.

“I would not mind one, considering you are currently in my humble abode and I have given you shelter,” Thor said, calmly. 

“Would you not, at least, like to know my name, first?” the rider asked, as he cracked one eye open, thin lips twisting into a wry curve of a smile

That one slight gesture sent slight dimples flashing into the rider’s cheeks and Thor couldn‘t help but smile in return. 

“Would you not wish to know mine?” Thor countered, still with his own smile curving his lips.

The other’s head dipped in a slow nod, hair slithering over the pillow with that one movement. Thor did not speak again, merely waited for the other to speak; after all, he’d asked first.

“I am Loki, of Asgard,” the newly named Loki said, green eyes staring up at the ceiling now. “And you?” 

“I am Thor, woodsman of the greenwoods,” Thor replied, deep voice a quiet rumble in the confines of the cabin. 

“I suppose it is nice to meet you, but I cannot be too overwhelmed given my current circumstances,” Loki said, with a pained smile that almost brightened his features and lent his eyes a sly cast. 

“You will be better. I have seen to that. I have also fed your dragon, and it is time, I think to feed ourselves,” Thor said, as he turned away to look over the bubbling pot of stew. “I assume you have nothing against stew?” 

“It is something that I am used to in the halls of Asgard, although not quite so ... primitive, I must say,” Loki replied, and Thor wasn‘t sure if he detected hesitancy or genuine disgust within the rider‘s tone.

Thor tried not to be offended, yet some of his hurt must have shown in the set of his back and the stiffness of his shoulders, for Loki spoke again.

“I meant no disrespect, Thor,” Loki said, and the emotion was almost genuine in his tone. “It is just that the quarters of dragon riders are so much more lavish than your humble abode could ever pretend to be. I assure you that no matter what you cook, the food will be sufficient. You look to be in exceptionally good health, at any rate.” 

Thor inclined his head towards Loki in a slight nod of thanks, although quite what he was thanking Loki for, he wasn’t entirely sure. Still, he ladled steaming piles of meat, vegetables and rich sauce into the bowls on offer, before taking them both to Loki‘s bed, accompanied by rough wooden spoons. Loki, despite his seeming ungraciousness earlier in the evening, spooned the stew down hungrily, even having the audacity to ask for another portion, proving that his slender body hid a hunger to rival Thor’s own. Thor hid his smile and acquiesced to Loki’s wishes, noting the near petulance in the other’s green eyed gaze when he did not move fast enough for him. Thor supposed that the obviously proud rider was used to being cosseted in the halls of Asgard, unlike Thor himself, who was used to providing for himself at all times. 

Still, he found Loki amusing, despite his reticence over sharing his cabin with someone else; it seemed as though Loki had no end of mischievous tales to tell of Asgard, low voice filling the space between them until the light faded outside into true darkness. Thor couldn’t remember a time that he’d felt more entertained, attentions caught by a pair of glittering green eyes and a wonderful story-telling style woven in darkness. Eventually, Loki changed the subject, finally telling the tale of how he’d become injured. 

It seemed that Loki had his own fair share of enemies within the walls and the corridors of the halls of Asgard, intrigue dogging his every step for every lover scorned, every dragon-rider slighted, bested or outright tricked by what Thor now recognised as Loki’s sharp intellect and even sharper tongue. It seemed that one of those that were slighted had taken it upon himself to attack Loki whilst mid-flight, sending arrows thrumming Loki’s way until he’d scored a hit and buffeted the dragon out of mid-air. 

Thor’s hands tightened imperceptibly, balling into fists as his jaw clenched involuntarily. Loki caught his unbidden gesture and laughed lowly at him, chuckles seeming to slither over Thor’s skin in a touchable wave so that every rasping sound produced yet another fresh goosepimple on Thor’s flesh. 

“There is no need to fight on my behalf, Thor,” Loki assured him. “I am more than capable of fighting for myself. After all, I have had nothing but my own wits to rely upon for many a long year. I am sure that I can survive a few more. After all, I have now my rage and my injuries to further temper my court trickeries.” 

“That may be so, but what if you are caught off-guard again?” Thor asked, mentally adding that he would not be there to care for him should Loki be injured again.

“I will make sure that that will never happen again,” Loki assured him, a sly grin twisting his mouth again. “Besides, I know where to go for help should I be injured again, do I not? I shall merely tell my dragon to carry me to my little pet woodsman in the greenwoods.” 

“I am no one's pet, Loki,” Thor objected, immediately. 

“No, for you are too proud for that, I can tell,” Loki said, and there was genuine amusement in his voice at that, slithering through the darkness to wash against Thor’s flesh again. “I suggest that you put more wood upon the fire, woodsman. Your fire is in danger of guttering down to mere ashes, and we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”

Thor harrumphed, wondering why it always seemed as though Loki had the upper hand on him, no matter the situation. It seemed as though an agile mind lived within the depths of that dark haired head, despite the fact that Thor himself was no slouch and was rarely bested. 

Still, he did as Loki had suggested, all too aware that the other man had long since grown accustomed to being obeyed. Thor wasn’t entirely sure that he liked Loki’s dominance, yet still he went through the motions of re-building the fire, knowing that he needed the heat and the comfort as much as Loki did. When he turned around, Loki had settled down within the confines of his blankets again, eyes partially closed, a slight smile touching his face as the wounded rider lounged. Loki looked for all the world like the world’s leanest petted cat, curled and dark and white within fur blankets. Thor settled down upon the floor by Loki’s bedside, after first sparing a glance once outside to check upon Loki‘s dragon. It seemed as though the dragon, recently named by Loki as Zven, had long since returned from his hunting trip and was now curled up outside, great scaled sides moving rhythmically in a doze. 

“Oh, I assure you, Zven will be quite fine,” Loki said, having caught the direction of Thor’s gaze. 

Thor merely grunted and wrapped the last of his furred blankets around his body, before sleep claimed him for the night.

And so time wore on, with Loki making good recovery, although Thor suspected that his injuries took longer to heal than normal. Thor suspected some devilment on Loki’s part, as though the silver tongued rider was deliberately prolonging his time within Thor’s cabin. Despite his annoyance at perhaps being treated like a fool, he felt proud all the same, that Loki seemed to want to remain with him; the rider appeared to take as much pleasure in Thor’s company as Thor did in his, often engaging in animated talks late into the night, when the moon rode high above the greenwoods.

Thor found himself hoping that the peace would continue, that Loki would remain by his side like the brother he’d never had nor even knew he’d wanted. He’d even grown accustomed to the presence of the dragon, intimidating though Zven still undoubtedly was. Thor found that he beast seemed to like him, great head dipping in deference every time the woodsman came near, especially when Thor carried food. Even so, he knew that the peace couldn’t last and it didn’t. 

Almost two weeks after Loki’s arrival and another dragon touched down in the clearing before Thor’s cabin. Curious, and unused to impromptu visitors, Thor wandered as nonchalantly as he could outside, skin pimpling in the autumn chill; he’d finished having a shower a mere five minutes before and had, as yet, to dress himself adequately. The rider he was faced with was dressed very much like Loki, although was infinitely more feminine than Loki would ever be. The lady in question had a whip of dark hair that cascaded down her back, pulled back from her face in a perfectly brushed tail. Her eyes, when they met Thor’s, were of a shade of hazel that was quite becoming, off-setting her already pretty face into something unusual. Thor had never seen eyes of that shade before, and he wondered if all dragon-riders had eyes of varying shades of green, or whether it was peculiar to Loki and his new visitor. 

“You are Thor, woodsman of the greenwoods?” the lady asked, and while her voice was feminine, it was strong and imbued with a tone used to being obeyed.

Thor bit back a sigh at that; it was because of bossy people that he’d long ago retreated to the woods, preferring his own company to that of people such as the woman in front of him. 

“You are not mistaken,” Thor said, finally, wondering if he should have just dressed; he felt oddly exposed before the penetrating gaze of the obvious warrior in front of him.

“I take it that you have a rider named Loki Laufeyson in your presence?” the woman asked. 

“I did,” Thor said carefully, some inner sense telling him to remain quiet upon Loki’s continued presence.

He was suddenly glad for the fact that Zven was missing that day, off on a hunt elsewhere. 

“And?” the woman asked, one thin eyebrow rising artfully at him. “Is he not here now?” 

“I would prefer to know with whom I am speaking before I divulge any more information,” Thor said, slowly.

“I am the Lady Sif, of Asgard,” the newly named warrior said. “Now that you have that completely unnecessary information,. do you, or do you not, have Loki Laufeyson in your keeping?” 

“I do not,” Thor said, stoically. “He left sometime earlier today.” 

“Did he,” Sif said, yet it was more a statement than a question, coupled with narrowed eyes of disbelief. 

“He did,” Thor said, stoically and he could almost feel the weight of Loki’s gaze drilling into his naked back from within the confines of the cabin.

He only hoped that the lady Sif did not insist upon searching the cabin itself or that Loki’s dragon would be sensible enough to remain absent while the warrior was there. 

“You must have missed him on your travels over here,” Thor offered, deciding that he’d already lied once, so that it didn’t matter whether he continued doing so. 

Even so, he wondered just what it was about Loki that made him lie for him. Thor wondered whether it was because he just enjoyed the other’s company, charming and funny by turns, coupled with a dry wit that Thor had never encountered before. There was something about Sif’s demeanour that told him that Loki would not be safe in his current condition against her. He suddenly felt a surge of protectiveness and loyalty for another, something that he had not felt before in his life. He squared his shoulders and stared Sif down, when it looked as though she were about to argue. 

“I take it he was badly injured,” Sif said, and again, Thor noticed the lack of a question in her tone. 

“Aye, and I have healed him,” Thor told her proudly. “I found him in the greenwoods a shade over a week ago. If not for me, Loki would have perished alone with no one but his dragon by his side.” 

“Really,” Sif said, again giving Thor taht narrow eyed look of suspicion. “And you claim that he is not here now?”

“It is not a claim, but truth,” Thor said, with a thunderous scowl at Sif. “And did I not say so already?” 

Sif grunted and Thor detected more than a little disbelief in her expression. 

“If I find that you are hiding him, Woodsman, then nothing in this realm will protect you from my wrath,” Sif said, as she pointed threateningly at Thor. 

Thor shrugged, trying not to show how quietly and suddenly unsettled he was. Woman though Sif undoubtedly was, there was something feral and war-like about her, as though she would move mountains to achieve anything that she wanted; Thor, while physically strong himself, suddenly began to consider whether he’d be meeting his match in Sif. 

“If that be the case, fair maiden, then so be it,” Thor said, stoically. “I will gladly fight you if all comes to that.” 

Sif narrowed her eyes at him in sudden anger, yet still her lips twitched in amusement; it seemed as though that despite her anger, she approved of his words and his fighting spirit. 

“You do not wish to go up against one such as I, Woodsman,” she said. “And I am no one’s fair maiden.” 

From her words, it seemed as though there was something more behind her words, yet Thor did not have the chance to question her, for she spurred her dragon up into the skies, the backdraft from the dragon’s winds threatening to batter Thor to the ground. He stepped within the confines of his cabin, turning when he felt the cold press of Loki’s hand against his bare flesh. Loki was standing close to Thor, close enough that Thor could feel the cool press of Loki’s breath against his cheek, the curve of his body against his own and the weight of Loki’s suddenly grateful smile. While Loki’s face was mobile at the best of times, overly given to mirth and to slyness by turns, Thor had never seen such an expression of genuine emotion on Loki’s face in the short time that he’d known him. He found himself smiling back at him, even as he wondered to himself quite what he’d done. 

“Thank you,” Loki said, and his voice was a dark purr that somehow seemed more intimate than what it was. “You didn’t have to do that for me.” 

“I did, although I don’t quite understand why,” Thor confessed.

“No matter,” Loki said, and perhaps it didn’t, not in the grand scheme of things. “That is the warrior who I told you of, the one who so grievously wounded me.” 

“Lady Sif? Why would she have felt it necessary to do that?” Thor said, in surprise, having previously thought that Loki had gone up against a male warrior in combat. 

He realized only belatedly that Loki had never once given a name or a gender of his unknown assailant and Thor himself had certainly never pressed further. 

“It is because she felt scorned,” Loki said. “She felt that I did not honour her as the warrior she undoubtedly is, merely treated her as the woman she also is.” 

“Don’t tell me you attempted to give her flowers,” Thor laughed, thinking that for all his charms, it would be something that Loki would do.

Loki’s wry smile told the truth of Thor’s guess and Thor sighed.

“Perhaps next time it would be prudent to give her something m ore fitting, like a knife, or a sword?” he suggested. “If you must woo a woman of such calibre.”

“And you would know such things how, woodsman?” Loki countered, genuine amusement in his voice at that.

“I may be willingly confined to the woods, dragon-rider, but I am no fool in the ways of wooing,” Thor said, sagely.

“Nor in other things, I should wager,” Loki said, musingly. “Very well, I concede to your better judgement in such matters and shall try harder next time. I will bear your advice in mind.” 

He turned away and began to walk to his bed, stooping to collect the remainder of his battle armour that had been stripped from him what seemed so many moons ago. Thor watched him with some surprise; gone was the stiffness and the limp left over from his wound. Instead, Loki moved with all the fluid grace his lithe body promised, hands making even the snapping on of greaves and armour a graceful dance. Loki’s dark brows arched when he realized that Thor was watching him, thin lips twisting into a smile.

“Have I done something so worthy of your continued attentions, woodsman?” he asked.

“Are you improved?” Thor asked, pointing to Loki’s side with one broad hand.

“I am,” Loki said. “I suspect that you already know that my presence here was prolonged by mine own will, as evidenced by Lady Sif’s arrival here today.”

“Why?” Thor asked.

“I have never known such kindness before, as you have shown me, when I have done nothing to warrant it,” Loki said. “Court intrigue vexes me so; no one in the dragon rider’s quarters seem to want anything from me at all, or if they do, then it comes with a price. You, I suspect, are not like that, and for that I thank you. For your loyalty shown today, I also thank you. For that I owe you my life, my loyalty and my right to call you brother.” 

Thor could only smile at that, surprise flooding through him; he watched in silence, as Loki continued to dress. The rider made his way through the cabin, stopping only once to stand beside Thor briefly, slender hand gripping Thor’s bare shoulder in a surprisingly strong grip, before he left.

Thor could hear Loki’s whistle, the resultant arrival of Zven and before he could even think to turn and to go after the rider, Loki was gone. Thor only realized in the breeze filled silence of his cabin, that he suddenly felt lonely, and that he should have asked whether Loki would return. 

It took Loki several months to return to Thor, by which time Thor himself had all but given up hope of ever seeing his erstwhile friend again. Loki’s sudden arrival was a surprise to Thor, yet not unwanted. Despite the fact that Loki did not stay for very long, Thor was grateful for his presence, and his company; his stories, while infinitely darker in tone, held as much mischief as they had so many months before.

It seemed as though Loki had taken Thor’s earlier advice, and had tried to woo Sif with gifts of knives and the best battle armour, yet Sif had decided to look elsewhere for comfort and not with Loki himself in the end. 

“I suppose I am better off without someone like Sif in my life,” Loki mused, his voice a thoughtful purr in the flickering silence of a fire lit cabin. “I think I prefer my life to be quieter, somehow.” 

“I hear you, brother,” Thor said, quietly. “It is, after all, why I remain in the woods and not in Asgard itself.” 

“Such a life you have carved for yourself out here, yet I wonder just who is the wisest one out of the both of us,” Loki said, yet there was no unkindness to his words at all. 

“Well, I will always be here, if you feel the need to escape again,” Thor said, with a smile, as he poured more mead for the ever thirsty Loki.

Loki inclined his head towards Thor in a nod of thanks; whether it was for the mead or the offer, Thor wasn’t certain, but he guessed it was for both. Silence settled over them, then, and it was filled with the spitting of the logs upon the fire. The silence was oddly comforting, companionable and Thor smiled when Loki looked to him languidly, even though the dragon rider didn‘t speak.

“I suppose you will be leaving me soon, again,” Thor said, eventually.

“Soon,” Loki agreed. “But I shall be back.” 

Thor nodded, and fell silent again, content to remain without conversation for a while if it meant that Loki would remain with him. In time, Loki left, and Thor was left wondering quite when he would see the amusing dragon rider again.

Thor was surprised at himself for being so dependant on another for company; he had, after all, disavowed the rigours of friendship and of life within the walls of Asgard some time ago. That he should find companionship in another and be content with it came as a surprise to Thor, yet was happy with the situation. Loki, as it turned out, often visited Thor in his cabin many times after that and his absences, while lengthy at times, were not quite as lengthy as the absence directly after his initial injury. 

Some of Loki’s visits were coupled with yet more injuries sustained upon battlefield and practice ground alike; in those times, Thor cherished the friendship and the trust that Loki placed in him above all others, to willingly come to him for help. That Loki was content to remain in his cabin, basking in the silence away from the furore of Asgard was obvious, and even Zven showed draconic pleasure in spending time deep in the greenwoods. Thor never saw Sif again, although he suspected that the fearsome warrior lady visited, keeping her distance, undoubtedly under the impression that Thor himself remained unaware of her suspicious and curious presence. He continued ignoring her, content in the knowledge that as long as she did not interfere, then he would have no cause to defend himself or Loki. Loki himself seemed aware of Sif’s presence, yet he never commented upon it, merely stared out into the greenwoods boldly, hands bunched at his sides until the threat disappeared and he could return to the routine that had been forged between himself, Thor and Zven. 

Thor surprised himself with the level of contentment that he felt regarding his current circumstances. After years of spending time alone in the greenwoods, Thor knew that for all his previous aversion to company, having at least one friend wasn’t so bad after all.


End file.
